An Eye for an Eye
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: No. 2. New, gruesome cases lead the BAU to Raleigh, where they meet a killer that's more than your average serial. Abby Scott is trying to settle in and may get hurt in the process. How far will she take it, and how far will they let her go? OC/AU.
1. Chapter 1: Delight is murder

_"An eye for eye only ends up making the whole world blind."_

Mahatma Gandhi

---

Season premiere was a bummer. Tension about Hotch' whereabouts was good, but suddenly seeing him in the hospital bed was a complete anti-climax for me. Didn't like. Second episode was okay, loved the actor whom portrayed the UnSub, but Hotch is getting on my nerves. As does Rossi, but he always had that tendency. Though I must admit, I kinda liked him in 'Reckoning'. Thank God for re-runs then, eh? And there I was, hoping and praying that we'd pick up on Miss Barnes and Morgan, but once again, no Morgan yummy-ness.

---

_"Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair."  
_Johann Friedrich Von Schiller

---

08.33

She sat still in the morning glory dew, watching the thin smoke dissipate above the dark surface of the water. It was early in the morning, the sun had just begun to rise as she could see the sky turning red. She loved the awakening of the earth, the slow start of another day, but the red sky always seemed a little disturbing to her. Perhaps it was because she had seen too much. Perhaps she knew what a new day meant. Perhaps she just knew that too many people saw that same colour every day. And it would be the last thing they saw.

Smoke escaped her lips shortly after she inhaled. In the still crestfallen morning the tip of her cigarette glowed vibrantly like a small torch. Blowing out the smoke, she watched until it disappeared completely.

The ground under her was still moist and cold, penetrating her clothes and bones like invaders, and she felt small shivers of the chills running over her back. The creek in front of her made very little noise and she felt like this was actually a peaceful morning. The air was calm, quiet and peaceful. Abby Scott understood why they had called this Havre de Grace. The area held a natural comeliness and beauty that captured every living creature, human or animal.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"  
Abby looked over her shoulder and watched doctor Reid approach her, both his hands in his pockets. He squatted down next to her and looked over the shimmering mirror. She saw him smile shortly. She put her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose and brought the cigarette to her lips once.  
"I know what you're going to say, so shut it."  
Spencer Reid smiled broadly at her and she returned his smile.  
"What was it? Seven, eight minutes?"  
"Six."  
"Right."  
"Why do you smoke?"  
"Is that a trick question?"  
"No, just pure curiosity."  
"Makes me look cool."

Reid laughed and his laugh echoed over the creek. When Derek Morgan called out to them, informing them that they were ready to go, they both stood up again. Abby put her cigarette out on the cold stones and she and Reid walked back to the cars.

They had only been halfway through their trip to Raleigh for a new case when JJ needed a bathroom break and Morgan forgot to fill up the car. Hence they made a pits stop at the gas station before continuing their journey towards a case they all knew was going to be brutal and gruesome.

Once back in the car and on the road, Abby leant against the doorframe and watched the scenery pass her by. Morgan, Reid and Abby had taken one car while Hotch and Prentiss took the lead, followed by the car Rossi and JJ were in. Morgan was driving. He did not trust the young man to drive a car he was sitting in and when Abby offered, he muttered something about women and car accidents. Reid threw in some statistics that both helped and didn't help Abby.

And so she found herself back again on the backseat of the black SUV, staring out the window as Morgan and Reid held discussions and pointless conversations about subjects that didn't want to reach Abby's ears.

She grabbed her black bag pack and took out a notebook and pen. Going over the details JJ's had given the team, her right hand searched for the file that contained photo's of the first crime scene. In her mind and on paper, she summed up everything she knew and scribbled down all her thoughts.

They were heading towards Raleigh, North Carolina. It was a four hour drive and Abby already started to feel stiff and sore. Not to mention that Morgan's and Reid's bickering started to annoy her. She absent-minded shook her head at the couple as her eyes took in the colours of the picture staring at her.

The victim on the photo was twenty-five years of age. He looked young, athletic, handsome. Abby made a bet with herself that he had blue eyes. His name was Mark McCunning, graduated from the Randolph-Macon College a year ago with a master degree in computer science. He worked at an Apple store fifteen minutes from his house. His mother passed away three years ago, cancer, and he lived with his girlfriend. From what Abby read from his personal file ("Yeah, blue eyes."), he was living a good life, a happy life.

On the crime scene photo's, he did not seem too happy. Mark McCunning was tied to a kitchen chair. His head tilted backwards, his throat sliced open. There were burn marks of a cigarette on his forearms and on other pictures Abby could see the bruises on his once charming face. Crime scene investigators found several of his teeth scattered across the room. He was only wearing a blood-drenched shirt and his Garfield boxers.

"Anything useful on those pictures Scott?"

Morgan looked at Abby through the rearview mirror and despite his sunglasses (and hers), she could feel his eyes penetrate her mind and soul and every time he looked at her, she felt a little more exposed.

It had been thirty-three days since her first case with the BAU. It had been twenty days since JJ stopped giving her the cold shoulder. It had been seventeen days since she and Reid picked up the great vibe between them and went out for some coffee. It had been fourteen days since she started to notice the way Morgan looked at her when in her presence and she responded to it. It had been eight days since Rossi finally stopped giving her the suspicious glares whenever working a case. It had been thirty-three days with the BAU and she was finally starting to get accepted in the team, even Hotch made her feel part of it. If only they knew that it had not even been a day that Abby stopped checking her email and voicemail every hour, hoping her 'old' boss called her and ordered her to get her ass back to Atlanta.

This morning, she finally decided it was enough and it was time to listen to the words she had spoken to Hotch after her first case. 'Got to make the best of it.' She couldn't help though, to feel a little betrayed. Bosses, commanders, politicians, chiefs, the media, they could say all they want about Wills' Special Crime Unit, but it was a heck of team and they did excellent work. Her former partners had called her, especially Milo, her best friend. They practically called every night, if not emailed or Skyped.

But from Supervisory Special Agent Angie Wills, her mentor, the person that took her in and gave her a spot in the SCU, had not come a single word. Not a phone call, not an email, not even a decrypted message in the newspaper or a postcard. The emotions it called upon were deeply stored back in a dark corner of Abby's mind, left there until further notice. She had other, more important, things on her mind. Like Derek Morgan, who secretly tickled her senses.

"The UnSub tied him up."  
"The victim?"  
Reid turned around on the passenger's seat and looked at Abby.  
"Yeah."  
"It's not that strange."  
There it was again. From behind darkened glass, intertwining eye contact and invisible shivers.  
"I didn't say it was strange Morgan, it's just eminent. It tells you something."  
"So, what does it tell us?"  
Abby finally lifted her head again and looked at Morgan. Her face held the 'Are you kidding me' expression and she raised her eyebrows shortly. The tall FBI agent shortly lifted his right hand in defense.  
"I didn't mean it like that."  
She sent him one last glare.  
"If you look at this victim, you can clearly see he's athletic. He may be a computer geek, but he definitely kept himself in shape. Then look at Glenn Harris, the second victim, he was only twenty-six, and also a computer nerd, but he's a big guy. Nearly six'three."

Abby was now looking at pictures of the second crime scene. It was somehow even more disturbing that Mark McCunning's scene. Glenn Harris' head laid on the kitchen table, his eyes wide open and focused mostly likely at the door on the other side of the room. Blood was sprayed all over the wooden table. All of his fingernails had been violently removed. As were his toenails. His throat was supposedly cut, but the wound was such a gap, half his neck was cut wide open.

"That means our killer is most likely short and not strong enough to take on other, stronger men."  
Abby nodded at Morgan's comment.  
"So he must have drugged them or something to overpower his victims."  
"And the only thing that connects these cases that both victims went to the same school, had the same classes and graduated in the same subject."  
"Computer science, yeah. the Randolph-Macon College in Ashland. They even were in the same class. And it's basically the same m.o."  
"He enters the house through the backdoor. Somehow overpowers his victims, tortures them and then slit their throats."

Abby looked outside and noted that they were driving on the high way. She had been so focused on the case and the conversation she hadn't even noticed. She sighed and pushed the crave for a cigarette quickly away. As she leant back into the car's backseat, she let the images, signs and words flash before her eyes.

From a distance, she could hear the night train arrive. She could feel her brain switching from 'normal person' to 'killer mode'. She felt the cool touch caress against her skin like a cat brushing up against her. Slowly, the shades chuckled childishly and excitedly made their way into Abby's mind. The world around her dissolved, hot steam came from under the train, forming a cloud around her feet. Choo-choo. Ready to board!

"Scott?"

Morgan's voice made her jump out of her thoughts. The shadows ran away, frightened by the sudden beam of light. The night train vaporized. There was something, something, right under her, she could touch, she could feel it, it was right there, but she couldn't see it yet. This case was horrifying, a maze of demons and blood.

"Sorry?"  
"You okay back there?"  
"Yeah, I'm fine. You were saying?"  
Reid looked over his shoulder as he spoke, carefully observing her, but the small smile afterwards told Abby that he let it go, it didn't matter.  
"Hotch called. He wants us to head towards the first crime scene, and then hit the second. JJ and Hotch will start with victimology and Rossi and Prentiss are going to talk to the families."  
"Okay. How much longer?"  
Morgan smiled through the rearview mirror.  
"Forty-five minutes. You have to go to the loo?"  
Abby shortly looked at him but decided to let him, the comment and the fake English accent slide.  
"I need a fag and some coffee."

---

11.09

The air at a crime scene is usually thick with the events that happened and the dust that was finally allowed to play freely. The walls seem long and closer to each other as the space in-between seemed to implode. The pictures on dressers and upon the wall no longer shined as bright as they used to and they only continued to tell a story of sadness. Those pictures were a vivid reminder of a major change in someone's life.

Abby had taken out her flashlight. Dust particles danced before the ray of light. All the blinds and curtains were closed, as were the windows and the door was tightly secured. Raleigh police department was taking this very serious. Which was good, but the stench of death crawled up in Abby's nose, stuck to her clothes and it made it hard to breath. Knowing someone had died here was worse enough. They didn't have to smell it also.

Reid's light went through the room as he took in the surroundings. It was a small house, but a nice house, good for beginners whom just decided to live together. There were a lot of pictures of Mark McCunning and his girlfriend, Kelly Sonderfield. Abby pictured the house before the gruesome display of terror and imagined what it would have been like.

"They had it all."

Abby shortly looked at Reid, whom was still focused on the pictures and the settings of the house while he spoke, whilst Derek was lurking around the hall way, taking another look at the door to make sure the police didn't miss anything. She left a vague trail of footsteps as she made her way to the kitchen. The cleanup crew had obviously not been here yet.

The kitchen table was covered in dried up blood, almost every smooth surface in the kitchen was decorated with white powder, the kitchen knife that was used to slice open McCunning's throat missing from the block, probably packed and sealed, on its way to the lab.

"Two kills in two days, something set him off."  
Morgan had entered the kitchen unheard and watched Abby as she stood in front of the kitchen table. The chair the victim had been tied to was gone, most likely taken to the lab for processing.  
"What about the backdoor?"  
"Visible signs of forced entry, but it's small. Some scratches around the keyhole."  
"He can pick locks. That's great."  
Derek smiled at her sarcasm and turned to look at Reid, whom entered the kitchen, holding a framed photograph. "What you got?"  
Reid turned the frame in his hands and both Abby and Morgan stepped closer to look at it.  
"It's a picture from the class of two-thousand-and-six. This is our first victim, Mark McCunning. This is the second victim, Glenn Harris."  
"Seeing the UnSub seems to target people from that class, I'm guessing he must be on this picture as well."

Abby turned on her heels and glanced at the kitchen as Morgan took a closer look at the photo, as if the killer might be wearing a sign that said 'Hé! You're looking for me! I'm your killer!'

"What is it?"  
She didn't turn to look at Reid. Instead, she slowly walked around the kitchen table, searching for something.  
"I don't know, but there's something. I can't put my finger on it. It's right here, but I can't see it."  
"Wanna break it down, walk through it step by step?"  
Abby nodded and Morgan started talking.  
"The UnSub picks the victim's lock and enters the house. Mark McCunning is home alone, his girlfriend was at her yoga-night with some friends, they always go for a drink afterwards."  
"The UnSub had to be watching him."  
"If this was a routine, he had to have been watching for a long time, studying them."  
Abby and Reid each took their separate turns to step in.  
"So our vic comes home, grabs something to eat and a beer. He watches television until he passes out."  
"Is that confirmed?"  
"Yeah. They found a half-empty beer bottle under the couch, stains on the couch."  
"Could have been a struggle. The UnSub could have overpowered his victim as he was higher when the vic was sitting on the couch."  
"They found blood on the edge of the table. DNA confirmed it was our vic's."  
"Okay, he was most likely drugged, he passed out, fell forward, hit his head."  
"The UnSub drags him to a kitchen chair, ties him up. Tortures him and eventually kills him."  
"And then what?"  
"He places the knife on the floor in the main hall-"  
"So when the victim's girlfriend arrives, she'll notice it right away."  
"And he leaves through the front door, leaving a smudge of blood around the doorknob."  
"He did that at the second crime scene as well?"  
"Yeah."

Abby had been silent for a while as Reid and Morgan went through the scenario. She stood still and listened while biting on her lower lip. Her fingers drummed in the air and her eyes flashed from one object to the other.

"He, assuming he's male, likes to interact with his victims."  
"It's definitely a male. This kind of aggressive torture, the control, it's typical for men. He's a sadist, likes to torture his victims. It's highly possible that he talks to them while he does it. He wants them to suffer. Besides, women would have preferred a drug overdose as they drugged him before anyway. Cutting his throat like that, it's too bloody for a woman."  
"No."  
Reid and Morgan both looked at Abby and frowned. She looked up shortly before kneeling down so her eyes were on the same level as the surface of the kitchen table.  
"I mean, yeah, no, that's true, but-... He was here before our vic came home. He was waiting for him."  
"How do you know?"  
"The drag marks near the chair in the corner in the living room. I'm guessing it was turned more towards the television in the next corner, but there are scratch marks on the wood. Someone turned that chair to watch the back door. He was waiting."

---

14.25

The room they used was large, part of it crooked to the center of the police station. Abby found it odd that they would have built a room in this kind of shape and pondered over while looking through the window. Morgan went to get them some coffee. Reid sat in a chair, his back towards the whiteboard of the first victim. JJ stood just outside the room, talking to the chief of police. Hotchner had made himself useful by studying the evidence of the second murder.

Absently minded, Abby used her thumbnail to scratch under the nail of her middle finger. It was something she used to do, if she moved her fingers, she could think better. As thousands of actions and processes inside her head went on and on, she found it often hard to have her body remain in a still composure. Quickly, she learnt that if she moved the smaller parts of her body, like her fingers, toes or feet, she could concentrate better. If she moved slightly, she didn't have to fight the urge to move anymore, which granted her more attention to what she was thinking.

Morgan walked back into the room with three mugs filled with hot, black liquid, followed by Rossi and Prentiss. The pretty dark-haired woman sat down in the first chair she could find and let out a deep sigh. Hotchner reacted to her sigh and looked at her. She shook her head when she caught his stare.

"Grieving girlfriends. I'd rather throw myself down a pit next time."  
"It was horrible."

Rossi added the words almost ashamed and he shrugged when Hotch looked at him. JJ entered the room, followed by a middle aged, dark man. He was of average length, well-built and seemingly strong. His hair was short, military cut. Abby guessed by the way he walked, how he protected his gun with his hand that rested on his belt, that he was military.

"This is Chief of Police Andrew Miller. This is Aaron Hotchner, agent Rossi, Reid, Morgan, Prentiss and Scott."  
Andrew Miller shook everyone's hand politely and when he shook Abby's, she noticed a small scar above his right eyebrow.  
"Thank you for coming. I must admit, when we suspected we had a serial killer on our hands, I got a little nervous. We haven't had a serial since nineteen-ninety-four. That was before my time."  
"I'm glad we can be of assistance. But, we're not sure if we have a serial killer on our hands yet."  
Miller shortly nodded at Hotch, a mutual understanding.

Rossi and Prentiss had spoken to both the victim's family's. Mark McCunning was a nice guy, handsome but loyal, charming but he knew where to stop. His girlfriend had been completely in love with him, they had moved in together only a week ago. According to Kelly Sonderfield, McCunning's girlfriend, he didn't have any enemies. He was good to other people. He went to church. He helped his mother with her house after his father passed away five years ago. Overall, he was a good man.

Glenn Harris' had a different life. After graduating Randolph-Macon, he found himself a nice job at a local computer store. After three weeks, he had been found two hours after closing time, the safe open and Glenn Harris counting the money. His boss, a former friend, reported the breaking in, but pressed no further charges. Glenn Harris was lucky. After that incident, though, things went downhill. For the past two months he had been living in three different motel rooms. Both his parents, divorced, cut all contact. He had no friends anymore, a low income from the supermarket he worked to feed his habit; crystal meth.

Abby was looking at pictures from Glenn Harris' motel room. Rossi walked towards her and stopped next to her. They were both looking at the same picture; Harris' night drawer open, a slight amount of meth inside.

"Must be the reason why he didn't have to drug the second vic. He was already high."  
"Would have made him a threat though. He could have lashed out. Meth makes you do crazy things."  
Rossi nodded at Abby and they both turned as Chief Miller spoke.  
"Glenn Harris was a regular user. He used enough to make him high but too much to make him do anything else besides that."  
Abby turned to Rossi and raised her left shoulder.  
"So he was high enough the UnSub didn't have to drug him."  
"Do we know what he used on the first victim?"  
The answer to Prentiss' question was not there yet, but that was covered perfectly by the ringing of Morgan's phone.  
"Baby-girl, speak to me."  
"Lab confirmed, your killer used GHB to drug your first victim."  
"Gamma-hydroxy butyrate?"  
"That's another way to call it, genius."  
"They also found no trace or evidence of your UnSub. They did find DNA of a female, Hailey Garren. I pulled her record, convicted of possession, prostitution, O.D.-ed twice and she was in the hospital for abuse four times, but no further charges were pressed."  
"Doesn't sound like our killer, but we'll talk to her anyway. Morgan, Scott."  
They both nodded at their boss.  
"Anything else Garcia?"  
"Nope. Garcia out."  
"We'll pay Hailey Garren a visit."

Morgan grabbed a file and Abby followed him to the door. As they left, she could hear Hotch handing out further assignments. An unusual feeling crept through her clothes and over her skin. A peril shiver ran down her back and somehow, she couldn't help but look around once they stepped outside the police station, her hand loosely placed on the butt of her holstered gun. Unnoticed, she quickly checked the car for another out of place before she opened the door and stepped inside.

"He's watching them."

Abby shortly looked at Derek as he put on his sunglasses and she could see him look around for a split second. The danger that crawled inside her stomach stirred and she couldn't reply. They were dealing with a lot more than an average serial killer. This guy was on the move and he wasn't ready to be put down just yet.

---

_"One good act of vengeance deserves another."  
_John Jefferson


	2. Chapter 2: O death

"_O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"  
_1 Corinthians 15:55

---

17.45

"Hey sexy."  
"Uhm, hey. Sugar?"  
"Scott?"  
"Garcia."  
"I was expecting someone else."  
"Yeah, that goes without saying."  
"Where's Morgan?"  
"Bathroom break. Can I help you?"

The silence that followed was more than awkward. It was clearly Garcia had been expecting Morgan to pick up his cell phone, but the fact that Abby did, seemed to startle her the most. A few precious seconds passed as Abby took a bite from her apple and studied the autopsy report of Glenn Harris.

Eating has always been something Abby did and loved doing. All those extra hours in the gym and the miles and miles of running she did were the only things keeping her a little bit in shape. She wasn't slim, she didn't have the supermodel's body, but she wasn't chubby either. She had broad shoulders, making her look rather intimidating. Her waist was almost as broad as her hips, her torso looked a little like a cubicle. Her legs were muscular and far from slender. She may not have the supermodel's figure, she was happy with what Mother Nature had given her. And she didn't mind putting it to use, either.

As a kid, she loved running. Running in the rain was the best, but she also loved the cold air clinging onto her as her breath formed white clouds in the dark sky. She was twenty-six now, which meant that she had been running for the past eighteen years. In the beginning, it was the only way for her to get away. It was an understatement to say that she was misunderstood by her family, but thanks to God, there had been no history of violence or abuse. For as far as she could call herself lucky, she definitely was. Nowadays, it was a form to let out the anger and the frustration Abby's job made her take home. A way to control the urge and the drive and not get lost in the madness.

Just as Abby heard Garcia talk to her through the phone, Derek Morgan entered the office they had stationed themselves in and took a second to take him in. She couldn't help it, Derek Morgan completely stripped her from her ability to resist that man and she felt herself fall deeper and deeper down the more contact she had with him. She couldn't put her finger on it, there was an air of mysteriousness around his smooth body and something catching and penetrating in his dark eyes.

"He's here."  
She leant forward from her chair, her feet still on the desk before her and she handed the phone to Morgan.  
"Garcia. She wants to talk to you."  
"Thanks."

Derek took the small device from Abby and for a split second, their skin came in contact and electricity pulsed through Abby's body. Her heart skipped a beat and she mentally cursed heavily at herself for being so stupid.

"Sweetness, talk to me."

Abby denied the sting that she felt when she heard Morgan talk. He would never talk to her like that. She forced herself to believe that she didn't want him to, that she didn't crave for his attention and she put the building lust somewhere far away in her mind.

Rapidly, Morgan and Garcia started their conversation. Just as Abby wanted to settle back down with her autopsy report, Hotch walked in the room, followed closely by Reid and Rossi. She could tell by the way Hotch was walking, something was wrong.

"You two talked to Hailey Garren?"  
Abby nodded and swallowed the piece of apple that was in her mouth.  
"Oh yeah. Unless she's Catwoman, she didn't do it. She was barely able to stand on her own two feet from the meth. Her pimp provided her an alibi. Don't think he's clean, but I don't think he was lying either. Not to mention she tried to make her move on Morgan, whom grabbed her shoulders and sat her down like she was a sack of air."  
Rossi exchanged looks with Hotch. Morgan's voice faded out, indicating the phone call ended.  
"Well, that's one suspect we can cross of our list. We've got another victim."

---

18.09

Chief Miller took large and firm steps as he walked down Jack McCallister's porch and headed towards the group of FBI agents that just arrived. Abby felt the air of anger hang around his wide shoulders and she lingered around the car long enough for her not to meet the man face to face. Hotch held no intentions to be intimidated by the Chief of Police and they met halfway, the rest of the group following closely, but cautiously.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the third man that has been murdered. This has to stop. If you're not willing to step up and take some action, I've got half a dozen cops that will."  
Hotch raised his hand in the air slightly, a gesture to the Chief to calm down and control his emotions.  
"I understand your reasons, Chief, I do. But we cannot allow ourselves to rush into this without thinking straight."  
"Tell that to the third family I have to inform of their son's death in three days."  
"Hopefully, we'll be able to build a solid profile of our killer once my team has taken a look at the crime scene. If we go in blind, we won't be able to see anything anyway. Let us do our job. We'll catch this killer, but we need a profile, we need to know with whom we're dealing. I understand your position, but please, calm down. Let us do our job."

Hotchner's words had been calm, controlled and somewhat soothing. Abby could see Chief Miller slowly calming down, Hotch's words taking effect and he gathered himself together. He sighed and responded to the sound of several reports arriving at the scene. Miller's expression changed from frustrated to hopeless as he turned back to Hotch.

"What am I going to tell the public?"  
"I'll go with you."  
JJ stepped forward and smiled gently. The Chief and Hotch nodded shortly and JJ accompanied him towards the small crowd.  
Rossi followed them with his eyes and sighed.  
"He's right you know. We're still behind this guy. We need something so we can move forward."  
"Then let's find it."

Jack McCallister rented the first floor from an old lady. The lady, Ally Shane, was eighty-two and didn't use the rest of the house anymore, as she explained to Abby and Prentiss. Hence she rented the first floor, the attic being too small for anyone to use. Ally lived downstairs, she had her own bathroom, Jack McCallister only used the kitchen once in a while.

Abby stared at the black cat that Ally Shane held in her arms. She tried to listen and concentrate to what she was saying, tried to pick up on the technique's Prentiss used when questioning the woman that found the body, but something was pulling her. Something kept drawing her attention. However, she couldn't found out what or who. It was as if a monster had awoken deep inside her and was roaring and screaming for her attention but she couldn't decide whether he was inside her stomach or in her chest.

Her fingers drummed in the air, often hitting her upper leg. She glanced from the cat to the house to the audience that had surrounded the house, back to the cat, the three police officers that talked to each other, closed off from their surroundings. The house was drawing her. She needed to go inside.

Prentiss continued to talk to the woman and paid little attention to Abby. Everything the woman told them was written down in Prentiss' black book and she nodded whenever writing down something important.

"Thank you so much misses Shane. This police officer will take you with him to the police station for an official statement."  
Miss Shane only nodded shortly while hugging her cat tighter.

Emily held her book and pen in one hand as she turned towards the house and headed into the direction of the front door. Abby however, had turned towards the house as well but stood frozen on her spot.

The house was old, a wooden porch going all around, green window-frames, white curtains. The wood of the house was old and she reckoned the house was a couple of years old. The garden was a sad excuse for a garden. Weeds everywhere, killing once probably beautiful flowers and plants, crawling around like a plague. The grass was rather high, but looked like to have been cut a little while ago. But mostly, it was the vibe of the house that made Abby halter and hesitate to enter.

It was dark, gloomy, abstruse. Many horrendous things had happened in this house, it talked to her and it screamed its pain and agony. Murder and despair was written on the wooden planks that kept the house standing. Abby couldn't picture children growing up here, family's settling down, babies being born, lovers meeting. It was a cold, cold, shadowed house.

"Scott, you okay?"  
Prentiss' words pulled Abby back to reality.  
"Yeah."  
The word took long to form and it took it's time to get out of her mouth. She tried again.  
"Yeah. I'm good."  
Determined, Abby started walking, walked past Prentiss and entered the house once her footsteps had left inimical, heartless echoes over the porch.

Jack McCallister was bound to a chair and faced the window. Curtains had been pulled away with force and a last beam of sunshine casted a disturbing light on the scenery. Reid and Morgan had both squatted down in front of the victim and studied the body. Abby took her time to take in her surroundings while putting on a pair of blue gloves. Prentiss followed shortly behind her.

"According to Miss Shane, the owner of the house, our vic was alive when she left for a doctor's appointment at half past four."  
The dark haired FBI agent put on the blue gloves as she spoke.  
"When she came back around half past five, she heard the television and went up to ask if he could turn it down. When she opened the door, she found him sitting in the chair, saw the blood on the floor and went downstairs to call nine-one-one."  
"She touched anything?"  
Hotch stepped into the room. Abby spotted the bathroom behind him.  
"No. Except for the doorknob to open the door. They're taking her prints for elimination."

Jack McCallister was a clean man. There was barely any dust resting on his drawers, his clothes neatly folded in his closet, magazines put on a stack, a couple of books carefully put away. The only thing out of the ordinary, was his bed. It was made, but the sheets looked like someone had recently laid on them.

The fact that the killer had positioned the victim towards the window held some significance, but Abby couldn't figure it out yet. Slowly, she walked around the room, studied the blood pattern on the floor and on the wall without looking at the body of Jack McCallister.

She could smell the scent of death. It crept through her nose and imbedded itself in her nostrils. It was a rotten, irony scent. The blood she could taste on her tongue, the air was thick with it. The dirt of murder got stuck under her fingernails, the filth clinging onto her hands.

The cracks in the sheets suggested that McCallister had been laying on his bed when his killer entered his room. There were little signs of a struggle, only a knocked over alarm clock, which must mean that McCallister had been sleeping.

When Abby turned towards the body of the man that once defined Jack McCallister, she thought she understood why he had been positioned towards the window. Both his eyes had been violently stabbed or hit with a small, blunt object. The UnSub had made him blind before he had killed him. Abby crooked her head to the right, an almost fascinating but calm expression on her face, as if she was studying the effect light had on rats.

Just like the previous two kills, both McCallister's hands were tied to the chair's arm-rests with a simple rope. There were definite signs of torture, beside the fact both his eyes had been mutilated. A split lip, bruises around the corner of his mouth, a slight black eye. Unlike the other murders, there were no burn marks and all McCallister's fingernails were still attached. However, there was something off, something rushed.

"Our UnSub is getting bolder. He now kills at daylight."  
Rossi walked around the room slowly, looking at the lack of pictures or any decoration for that matter.  
"Or he had no other choice. Our vic worked a night job."  
Prentiss looked at her book shortly when she spoke.  
"So he had to kill at day."  
Morgan lifted himself from his crouched position as he talked.  
"Which means he's confident or getting more confident with each kill."  
Rossi shortly looked at Prentiss.  
"Which also means he has a job himself. The victim is not even dead for an hour. He's still warm."  
"He left work and got ready to kill."  
Now Hotch mingled into the conversation.

Abby kneeled down and took a closer look at the body. There was a stain on McCallister's blouse, right on the chest pocket, but it seemed lighter than the other bloodstains. Carefully, she slid her fingers in the pocket and felt something brush against her gloved finger. She grabbed the piece of paper and opened it as Reid leant into her direction to read what was on it.

"Hey guys, I don't want to be the mood-killer here, but take a look at this."  
She held the note up in the air. Morgan was first to read and as he did, he read out loud.  
"I am not done yet."

Morgan's eyes met Abby's, which had carefully and cautiously looked up at the tall figure. They stared at each other, no sign of emotion, just mutual understanding. What they had felt, what they had thought, the shivers that had ran up and down their backs, the unpleasant feeling of not being alone had just been confirmed. Abby wasn't sure whether the fact that he was indeed watching them was more frightening or that they were right. They weren't dealing with their average serial killer.

"Rossi was right."  
Abby broke her stare as she turned her head towards Rossi.  
"He is getting bolder."

---

21.15

Abby stood outside in the fresh, cool air and blew out some smoke. The grey air danced on invisible ground and on inaudible music. She shivered slightly but loved how the cold slowly penetrated her clothes, invading her thick shields. It made her feel human, something she forgot once in a while when hunting down malicious killers.

"Scott."

Prentiss approached her, the door she had just opened, closing behind her. She wrapped her arms around her waist as the pretty woman was greeted by the cold. Abby turned to look at her and inhaled the condemned smoke greedy.

"I was just-. Well."  
Emily avoided contact as she sought for words.  
"Prentiss. Simple words. One for one."  
The agent looked at her still new colleague and pressed her hands against each other.  
"I was just. The way you reacted before we entered Miss Shane's house. I wanted to know if you were okay."  
"Yeah. I'm good."  
"I haven't told Hotch, in case you're wondering."  
Abby smiled shortly and brought the cigarette to her lips again.  
"Thank. Appreciate it."  
"Yeah, you're welcome. So-"  
"Ever been to one of the those places where you think 'I've been here before'?"  
"Sometimes, yeah."

Abby nodded once with her head and Prentiss got the idea. She smiled weakly and watched the younger agent take a last pull of her cigarette before putting it out. Together, they walked back inside, talking about the one thing that connected them all; the case.

---

22.09

Hotchner had sent them to their hotel rooms to get some rest and to think about the profile they were going to release the next day. Once arrived back at the police station, tension was heavily present in the air, they gathered in the slightly crooked room and started brainstorming.

Garcia had called. Her message had been clear.  
"Jack McCallister was a nasty, nasty man. Sexual assault, possession of child porn, assaulting three prostitutes."  
As Reid wanted to try out the motive theory and Morgan assisted him by saying 'vigilante justice', Garcia swooped both theories of the table.  
"Were it not that your first victim was as clean as a pig."

Her choice of words had been interesting, but to Abby, Reid and Hotch it had been perfectly clear that pigs were the cleanest animals in the world. Except for Glenn Harris' drug use and his 'mistake' at the computer store, he had been clean too. No record, not even a speeding ticket. The vigilante theory was off the table.

After two hours of talking and setting up a profile, JJ's fifth yawn caused Hotchner to call it a day. He did, however, gave them the task to think about their profile and possible things that needed to or could be added.

This time, Abby found herself in her hotel room much nicer than the first one she slept in. She had taken a small whiteboard where she had written down the profile they had so far. Pictures of the crime scenes laid scattered but in groups on her bed, she held the black marker in her hand and the other held the cigarette that was just brought to her lips. Abby had comfortably position herself in one of the large chairs and had put her legs over one side.

She let the profile dance in her head, mingling, tangoing, chatting and laughing. They needed to meet each other and match. If one the characteristics was wrong or even a little off, they could end up looking for the wrong person. Her toes rubbed against each other and as she slightly turned to put her cigarette out in the ash tray next to her, she looked at the clock and noted the time.

Abby sighed heavily. So far, she hadn't been able to come up with anything new. It annoyed her as much as it comforted her. And then again, the fact that it annoyed her comforted her as well. It annoyed her that she hadn't been able to add anything. It made her feel incompetent. Somewhat useless. It also comforted her, because it meant she was working with people that knew their stuff and handled it very well. Because it made her feel annoyed, it also meant that there was some sort of significance for her to feel fully to use in this team, something she had been afraid off when she first joined the team.

Several soft knocks on her door awoke Abby from her thoughts she got up, her right hand immediately searching for the comfort in her life; the cold steal of her .22 Glock. Stealthily, she made her way over to the hotel room door and opened it, positioning herself near the wall so if the person on the other side rammed into the door, she wouldn't fall and of the person tried to point a gun or any other weapon through the opening, she could easily point her gun back at him or her and still have some cover.

Spencer Reid stood before the door opening and Abby lowered her gun and put the safety pin back on. Spencer registered the clicking sound and looked down at her hand. He opened his mouth and then shut it again.

"I was going to say something, but I got the same creepy feeling, so I won't."  
"Thanks. I guess."  
Abby smiled gently and gestured for Reid to come in. Reid returned the smile and entered the room.  
"You've been busy."  
He walked up to the whiteboard and noticed the pictures on her bed.  
"Not really."  
"I think we've covered everything in the profile. It's pretty solid."  
"Yeah."  
Abby offered Reid a bottle of water, took a sip herself and then lit another cigarette. She caught Reid looking at her and raised her eyebrows shortly.  
"Still, I get the feeling we're missing something. It's like he's right under our noses, laughing at us, we smell him, but we forget to look under our own bloody noses."  
Spencer snorted shortly and his eyes wandered towards Abby. Again, he opened his mouth, and closed it again.  
"Maybe Garcia's suspect list will add something. She's tracking down all our victim's classmates from the Randolph-Macon College."  
"Yeah. Maybe."  
"What do you think?"  
Abby raised her eyebrows in surprise and she looked at Reid.  
"I think we're dealing with a very pissed off UnSub. His m.o. keeps changing, so they must represent something. Perhaps he was picked on during college and this is his revenge."  
"Very pissed off UnSub. Copy that."

---

09.00

Hotchner stood before a dozen men, all anxious, ready to jump into action. He stood tall, overlooked the crowd, his feet steady and pointing towards his audience. Morgan stood next to him, arms crossed before his chest. Prentiss had positioned herself next to Rossi, sitting on one of the desks, as Rossi leant against the same. JJ was outside, her pretty face now probably on thousands of televisions. Reid and Abby stood still opposite of Prentiss and Rossi, on Hotch' left flank. Abby couldn't help but notice that if they would be attacked in any way by the police officers before them, they would be able to take any hit.

"The man we're looking for is approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. He's short build and not very strong."  
"You wouldn't notice him in a crowd, he doesn't stand out. He's average, not attractive, but not unattractive either."  
Abby couldn't help to look down at her feet once Morgan spoke. When Rossi continued, she looked up again, earning a small but caring glare from Reid.  
"He's confident but not on the outside. He feels superior to everyone else, conceited, but he wouldn't show it to the outside world. You could describe him as a narcissist, but to the world he is usually shy and withdrawn."  
"He has no friends. The need to prove and his idea that the world undervalues him would make him incapable of admitting fault or wrongdoing."  
Prentiss halted shortly in the middle of her sentence when Hotch's phone rang. With a small gesture, he apologized, took the call and Prentiss finished her sentence. When it was Abby's turn, the tucked her hands in her pockets before she spoke.  
"But he is intelligent. He is a former student from the Randolph-Macon College where he most likely studied Computer science. He works with computers and he's pretty good at that. It's his way of shutting out the world and between him and the computers, he knows everything which makes him feel valued."  
"It also allows him to have minimum contact with anybody else. His social skills have not developed properly, probably because of absent parents."  
Reid now stepped in and Abby absentmindedly leant towards him as if protecting him, allowing him to choose his words carefully.  
"During high school and college, he was picked on by a certain group. We believe that lashing out this violently and murdering his previous bullies, is his way of fighting back. He has a task forehand and he won't stop until we find him."  
"Thank you for your time."

The group of officers stood up and softly talked about the just released profile. The FBI agents gathered around their superior.

"Garcia has a suspect list."

---

09.12

"James Walsh, twenty-six, no record, works at a computer store just outside of town."  
Prentiss read the words on a piece of paper that had just been faxed to the police station. Morgan looked up from the papers he was holding to talk.  
"He would have to have a job close to the three crime scenes. Especially close to the latest one. A job just outside of town wouldn't have enabled him to kill before six."  
"Ivan McKlaren, twenty-seven. Works at a computer store two blocks from the third crime scene. Has been arrested once when he 'offended an law enforcement officer' after the cop said he wasn't allowed to park his car on a corner."  
"Sounds like our guy."  
Hotch leant closer towards Reid to read the file he was holding.  
"He's five foot two, assistant manager."  
"Let's go."  
"Wait."  
Morgan had broken Hotch's movements, as well as the rest of the team's.  
"Tim Orden, twenty-five. He's a programmer at a computer store four blocks away from the third scene. Divorced parents, mother died when he was fifteen, father was arrested a year later for abuse."  
Hotch nodded as Morgan read the file. When Morgan was done, Hotch and Rossi sought eye contact.  
"Sounds pretty good to me as well. Fits the profile."  
"Okay, Rossi, Prentiss and Reid why don't you pay Ivan McKlaren a visit. Morgan, Scott and I will visit Tim Orden."  
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Chief Miller stuck his head around the corner.  
"Am I interrupting?"  
"We think we have two pretty good suspects. What's going on?"  
Hotch had noticed the sudden rise of activity at the police station.  
"We just had a call, unknown female, she wouldn't give her name. She works at Multi-Computer and she watched the news broadcast. She thinks your UnSub is a co-worker of her."  
"Okay, then let's go."  
Rossi was just about to re-order the groups and sent two agents to the office to check it out.  
"That's not all. We also got another phone call, from misses Dunnely. She claims that her son didn't come over for dinner last night and he doesn't answer his cell phone. She called work, they say he never showed up."  
"What's his name?"

Reid grabbed the list of their UnSub's assumed old class, as well as the class picture.

"Duncan Donnely."  
The young genius looked up without even checking the list.

And then she could feel it. Her heart started beating faster, adrenaline was launched into her veins and pumping wildly and out of control. Abby could feel his hands of her bare back, his cold, frigid breath in her neck. His eyes penetrated her soul and lightning struck. She looked up to find his eyes but saw nothing. She could hear his voice, singing softly, a lullaby, caressing and soothing her.

She was on the night train, caught in the same compartment with the devil. His fierce and rigid eyes stabbing her, his cool, composed attitude disabling her movement, unable to run away. The train was moving fast, its wheels underneath her feet at rapid speed, roaring like thunder. Mist and fog cut in-between as the black train rode right through it.

Abby was staring him right in the face, he was looking back at her, but the shadows blocked her sight and she couldn't see him. But he was right there. She knew it. She could feel it.

---

"_The dead look so terribly dead when they're dead."  
_W. Somerset Maugham


	3. Chapter 3: Acts of kindness

"Acts of kindness may soon be forgotten, but the memory of an offense remains."  
Proverb

---

09.15

Abby sat silently next to Morgan in the car. He was dodging traffic, racing like a madman. The air vibrated with latent hostility, minds focused and were only set for one thing and one thing only; finding Duncan Donnely before it was too late. Abby did the math in her head. They were going to be there too late. The coroner confirmed that the torture and the eventual kill were only two, three hours apart. Best situation? They walked in and Donnely was still warm which meant the killer wasn't far away. Worst case? Donnely was as cold as an ice cube and stiff as a wooden plank.

She had calculated the income and came to only one conclusion. They were going to be there too late, their UnSub was long gone by now. Duncan Donnelly was supposed to arrive at his mother's house a seven. When she called twenty minutes later, he said he was still at work, lost track of time, but he would be there at nine. Around half past ten, he still hadn't shown up. His mother alerted the police the next morning.

The car came to an abrupt halt and the tires screeched underneath them. Both Morgan and Abby jumped out the car, Hotch and Rossi already awaiting them on the pavement. When Reid, Prentiss and JJ also got out of their vehicle and headed towards them, Hotchner and Rossi moved towards Donnely's apartment building.

"What floor?"  
Hotch yelled over his shoulder as he opened the door leading to the staircase. JJ replied and Abby tightened her grip around her .22 Glock.  
"Third."

It seemed like the faster she wanted to go, the longer it took. Occasionally, Abby leant over the railing to see if she might, by some stupid coincidence, see their UnSub. The clattering of seven pairs of feet stepping on the cold, metal-like steps echoed through the large staircase, announcing their arrival. Outside, Abby could hear police cars arriving, their sirens searing through the walls.

Finally, they had reached the exit and Hotch opened it, closely followed by Rossi. He cleared the hallway quick and easy but unsure of where to go.  
"Apartment three-thirteen."

Without a confirming nod or anything, Hotch started walking down the corridor, heading towards the right apartment. Abby stepped into the hall and turned around the corner, her gun pointing in the direction her eyes went. Next to her, she felt and heard Morgan step past her and he also entered the hallway. A few feet away, she heard Hotch kick in the door and 'FBI!' quickly reverberated through the deserted corridor.

As she was about to turn and follow JJ, the last that had entered the hall and head towards the apartment, she heard something on the other side of the hall. She halted and waited, the beast inside of her risen and ready and alert. All her senses were set towards the other end of the white hall, her gun pointing at the ground but her hands dry and solid.

And there it was. The closing of a door. She knew she had heard something. Behind her, Morgan called out to her, but she didn't reply nor respond. A man dressed in a dark sweater and fading jeans walked away from the scene, his head bowed and his pace calm and steady. Images flashed before her eyes and words echoed in her ears.

"_He can pick locks__. He's short build and not very strong. You wouldn't notice him in a crowd, he doesn't stand out. He's average, not attractive, but not unattractive either. To the world he is usually shy and withdrawn."_

It was him.

"FBI! Don't move!"

It was out before she realised it. It was a natural response, an action she had practiced in front of the mirror and put to use months later. Her gun went up as she spoke, she stepped into the hallway and positioned her feet properly, absentminded. Unaware.

The figure halted, hesitated, stopped. Morgan called out to her again and she heard him come out of the room. The person fifteen feet away from her looked at her shortly, then spun around on his heels and started running. Without a warning, without a call or shout, Abby went into pursuit. She called out to Hotch, heard someone follow her from behind. The only thing she could recall vividly before crashing into the door to the main staircase, was shouting out to Hotch again, hoping he would hear her.

Back inside the main staircase, Abby quickly spotted their possible UnSub and jumped down the stairs.

"Right behind you Scott!"

Morgan called out to her, assuring her of back-up. Now that she knew, she holstered her weapon and gave it all she had. She continued to jump down the short flight of stairs, her hands around the steel railing every time she landed to pull herself towards the next. She forgot all the details around her, her eyes were fixed on the man she was chasing. She saw him enter the hallway of the first floor and again, launched herself into the white door, the number 'one' looming up as she got closer, and she started running down the corridor, her reflection in the glass on her left blurry.

She noticed the corner, the hand that was on the wall seconds before, he was right there, she almost got him. As she turned, her feet seeking steadiness underneath her, her ankles turning, her legs shifting pressure, he doomed up before her. She crashed into a wall of darkness and met a new force that pushed her back hard. Before she really realised, her back hit the glass walls that overlooked the building's garden and entrance. She felt it break. And then she felt nothing at all for a couple of seconds.

Brutally, her body hit the stones, her left shoulder first to come in contact with. Pain shot through her body, stinging like thousands of knives were poking into the flesh and bones. The air was knocked out of her and she had to blink several times to see straight. Then she heard breaking glass and squeaking shoes. Their UnSub got away and Abby could only lay on the cold, stone pavement, unable to move.

"Abby?!"  
Derek's voice was drenched in panic and fear. Vaguely, she could see him standing in the broken window frame. She hissed through her teeth and got a hold of herself.  
"I'm okay."  
Her voice cracked and didn't sound very convincing, hence she raised her right hand shortly and tried again.  
"I'm okay."

---

09.20

Morgan was the first to come to her side, jumping down the broken frame of the first floor. Groaning, Abby got to her feet and immediately grabbed her shoulder. She felt a hand on her good shoulder and turned.

"You okay?"  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."  
She glanced over her shoulder to see any sign of the UnSub.  
"Forget it. He's long gone. You got a look at him?"

Derek spoke as he checked her out. Carefully, he removed some glass from her clothes and cupped her face with one hand to look at the small gash on her cheek. Abby shook her head.

"No. It happened too fast, I didn't see a thing."

Both Morgan and Abby responded to the sound of an opened door. Prentiss approached them jogging, her face concerned and twisted with tension. Her eyes went over the broken glass, the gash on Abby's painful face.

"What the heck happened?"  
"Bastard pushed me through the window. I'm fine though."  
"He what?"  
"Oh yeah."  
"Well, are you okay?"  
"I'm good. Don't worry, I'm fine."  
"I'll call for another ambulance."  
Abby quickly spun around to face Prentiss. She, however, was busy dialling nine-one-one for another ambulance. So she turned to Morgan and caught his apologetic expression.  
"_Another_ ambulance?"  
"Donnely is still alive."  
"He's what?"  
"Hotch and Rossi are with him. Except for a couple of bruises, he should be fine."  
She was too stunned to speak.  
"Yeah, I know. Looks like he tried to drown Donnely several times in his bathtub."  
Abby raised her eyebrows shortly, this job was full of surprises.

Ten minutes later, Hotchner had been brought up to date about Abby's flight through the air. She was sitting on the backside of the ambulance, a female paramedic carefully putting her left arm in a swing.

"Is that really necessary?"  
The paramedic smiled at Abby's frown.  
"New on the job?"  
"Kinda."  
"It's just precaution. But you might have broken your shoulder."

Abby rolled her eyes at herself, muttered some words under her breath that made the other, male, paramedic look up in surprise. She wasn't sure if it was because her choice of words or the thick British accent. She saw Hotch nod at Rossi and Morgan before he walked towards the young woman, followed by the ever handsome genius.

"How are you doing?"  
Abby glared at Hotch but winched when the paramedic tied a knot in the sling behind her neck.  
"I'm okay."  
"Reid will go with you to the hospital. When you're done, report back at the police station."  
She nodded once, avoiding eye contact with her new team leader.  
"How'd you know it was him?"  
This made her look up, if only to meet his eyes once and shortly. She shrugged with her right shoulder."Instinct. I knew something about that guy was off. When we were in the staircase, I could hear the sirens. That must have alerted him and he hid in one of the other apartments. He can pick locks. When he walked out shortly after you kicked in the door, his head down, hands tucked in the pockets of his sweater, I just figured. I wasn't really sure until he started running."  
"Well, good job Scott."  
"Thanks."  
Hotch nodded once, professionally, strictly business, but patted her knee before leaving.  
"We good to go?"  
"Yeah."  
Abby turned towards the blond paramedic and got up, waving away a helpful hand from Reid.

---

10.05

Abby sighed again. Damned doctors, they always took their time. She sat annoyed on the side of a hospital bed, Reid positioned in the chair next to her. Her left arm was still in a sling – the doctor insisted on it – and they had to cut open her dark grey blouse – something they also insisted on despite Abby's protests that she could take it off. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, only annoying Abby even more. It was a constant reminder that while she was sitting and waiting here, she could do other things. Better things.

"You should have stayed."  
Reid looked up and smiled at her.  
"They'll manage without me."  
"Still-"  
"Abby, Hotch told me to go with you. Direct order. Stop whining."  
Abby looked at Reid flabbergasted, her eyes wide in shock and surprise. Just as she opened her mouth to retort a probable witty comment, Reid's phone rang.

She chased Reid with her eyes as he exited the room to answer the call. He left her sitting in the all too clean room, the sheets white enough to hurt her eyes, and she looked at the clock again. _10.34_. She cursed again and ran her hand over her face. The doctor had cleaned the cut on her cheek and put a small gaze over it. She didn't even need stitches.

Abby heard Reid re-enter the room and she looked up at him.  
"They find anything?"  
"Donnely is okay. Couple of broken ribs, broken nose, a few bruises, but he'll live."  
"Good for him."  
"He confirmed that the UnSub tried to drown him several times. Every time he passed out, he woke up minutes later again."  
"He did that for that long?"  
"Yeah."  
"That's a remarkable evolution."  
"What do you mean?"  
Reid looked at curiously and Abby begun explaining.|  
"He starts craving pleasure from his torment. With the first vic, he was quick. Second vic he took a little longer, but to go from torturing a guy for two hours to keeping him alive to torture him for a whole night, that's a big escalation."  
"He's taking more time for each victim."  
"He's reaching his final goal."  
"I'll call Hotch, we have to find his next target."  
Abby jumped down from the bed and grabbed the remains of her blouse.  
"No, call my doctor. Tell 'm I'll swing by later. Let's go."

Spencer moved to block Abby's way out. He crossed his arms before him once he stood in the opening of the door. She sighed heavily and placed her good hand on her hip.  
"You have to be cleared. Besides, Hotch, will kill me."  
She raised her eyes towards the ceiling and turned back into the room.  
"Where'd you get the scar?"  
"Which one?"  
"The-"  
The genius wanted to pick out the particular scar, but stopped once he saw Abby look.  
"I got like fifty of them. So, pick one."  
"The one on your shoulder."  
"You mean the round one?"  
"No. That's was a bullet wound, though, wasn't it."  
"Yeah. One of my many war wounds."  
"What about the long stretched one, above?"  
"First case I worked for the FBI. Guy high on PCP pushed me against barbed wire."  
"How'd he end up?"  
"Not as pretty as before he jumped at my throat."

Reid smiled and Abby thought she saw a glance of admiration in his eyes. She was taken aback by Reid's reaction and fuddled with the sheets. As if he heard her prayers, the doctor entered the room, saving her from the, to her, uncomfortable silence.  
"I've got good news, you're shoulder isn't broken. There is a very small hairline facture, but that should heal in a couple of days."  
"Thank God."  
"It's just badly bruised."  
"Good to know, thanks doc."  
"Put some ice on it once you get home, leave it in a sling for a couple of days. I'll prescribe you some painkillers. Although, I'm a bit worried about a concussion."  
"I don't have a headache. Oh, and I don't need the painkillers. I got naproxen at home."  
"Okay. But a fall like that, you've got a bump on the side of your head. I want you to be really careful."  
"I know the drill. Thanks doc."

Abby shook his hand quickly and headed out the door. Reid smiled weakly and apologized before following his colleague, only to make her turn around again to sign the discharge papers under the soft embrace of Abby complaining.

---

11.10

Reid and Abby finally walked through the front doors of the police station and were greeted by busy cops that barely noticed them and the scent of fresh coffee. They quickly made their way to the room that had been dedicated to the case and Reid closed the door behind him once they had entered.

Morgan looked up from the chair he was sitting in and smiled broadly at the two figures.  
"Look who it is, superwoman. How you doing?"  
"I'm good Morgan, thanks."  
"What did the doctor say?"  
Abby turned to look at Hotch and smiled shyly.  
"Reid's been a good puppy. I went for the run, he grabbed my ankles and pulled me back at my hair. It's not broken, badly bruised though. Doc says a couple weeks of vacation, sitting on a beach while sipping on my beer should cure it."  
Hotch actually smiled and handed Abby the photo's of the crime scene.  
"So you're good to go."  
"Oh yeah. So, what have we got?"  
"That's a nasty looking bruise though Scott, you sure you're okay?"  
Rossi appeared next to her and studied the blue bump on the side of her forehead.  
"Permanent brain damage, I'm afraid."  
"So sad."  
"Yeah."  
"No doubt you and Reid got to the same conclusion; he's taking longer to torture his victims."  
Abby and Reid locked eyes for a couple of seconds and they both nodded.  
"He's reaching his final destination. That one bully he never got to."  
"We'll have to find out who that is though, before we can do anything."  
Prentiss nodded at Abby shortly and almost invisible when she sipped on her coffee. She sat down on the edge of the desk and looked at the file in her hand.  
"We've called all the people that are on our lists. They are the only ones that were from the same class and still live in the neighbourhood."  
Abby nodded and let her eyes flash over the pictures in her hand.  
"Donnely saw anything?"  
JJ shook her head at the youngest member and he greedy looked over Abby's shoulder to see the pictures.  
"He says the UnSub wore a ski mask."  
Reid frowned upon this detail and looked at Abby, whom was looking at the table.

She ran the event from this morning through her head. UnSub was in Donnely's apartment, wearing a black ski mask. He hears the sirens and makes a run for it. But instead of actually running, he breaks into the apartment on the other side of the hall, a few doors away. When he hears Hotch kick in the door, he makes his move, unaware that Abby stood there hearing him, and waiting for him. He walks away, controlled and composed, when he hears Abby call out. He turns, his eyes burn from behind the mask. Then, he turns and starts running.

Abby sighed and shook her head shortly. She rewound the scene and played it again. UnSub turns, his eyes burning, but his expression shocked and startled. He thought he'd get away with it. He was convinced his plan would work.

"He wasn't wearing a mask when I looked at him in the hallway."  
"You sure?"  
"Yeah. Can't really describe him, though. He was shocked to find me there, calling out to him. Green-ish eyes. There was a large scar across his right eye."  
"What if we get a sketch artist?"  
"It's worth a shot, but that takes hours."  
"We'll start interviewing our potential targets first. When the sketch artist arrives, you sit down with him."  
"You got it."  
"Prentiss, I want you to go to the hospital and interview Duncan Donnelly."  
There was a tab on the window and Chief of police Miller stepped into the room, holding a stack of papers. His eyes went over Abby.  
"You okay?"  
"Peachy."  
"Good to hear. Agent Hotchner, Ivan McKlaren, James Walsh and professor Hauren are here."  
"Okay, thank you."  
"You need any help?"  
"Yeah, why don't you go with agent Morgan and talk to Ivan McKlaren."  
The tall man nodded.  
"Reid, you and JJ take James Walsh. I will talk to professor Hauren, Rossi and Scott will take whoever comes in next."

---

11.34

Rossi and Abby sat next to each other, leaning against the large round table in the room, sipping on coffee and watched the police department evolve itself. Officers were busy finishing up paperwork, two partners brought in a distraught hooker and a small group of cops had gathered around the coffee machine, animatedly talking.

"Can I ask you something?"  
Abby let the slightly hot liquid in her mouth go down and she nodded before glancing towards the elder man sitting next to her.  
"Shoot."  
"You served in Iraq?"  
She was a little startled to find the subject of their newly started conversation on a personal level, but bobbed her head up and down nonetheless.  
"How long."  
"Couple of months, before I was a trainings officer at West Point for four months and then went to Fort Lewis."  
"West Point? Impressive."  
"Nah, I wasn't that good. I was mostly training the trainings officers. Did my last tour in October in Iraq later that year and resigned."  
"What did you do in Iraq?"  
"I mostly served in Africa."  
"Special Ops?"  
Abby smiled.  
"Rangers."  
"Should have known."  
"Let me guess, divorced twice. No, three times?"  
Rossi returned the smile and nodded.  
"You know, I tend to say I'm not cut out for marriage, but in the end, we're always cut out for it. Despite our best efforts to tell ourselves we're not. Along with the 'I'm not lonely, I have friends' line."  
"How's the shoulder?"  
"Still there."  
Rossi sighed and looked at Abby. She took another sip from her coffee and her eyes searched for someone that would provide them some work, something to do.  
"You know, I heard you call out to Hotch. Twice."  
"I did?"  
"Yeah."  
"Well, he's the team leader, I needed to make sure someone had my back so I wouldn't be scoffed at when I caught the guy."  
"You've worked with Morgan mostly."  
"So?"  
Now Rossi got her attention and she met his eyes.  
"You called out to Hotch."

Rossi let Abby's mind be absorbed with thoughts. She stared down into the deep abyss of the cup she was holding. Small amounts of vapour lifted from the black liquid, watering Abby's eyes as she got too close. She wondered why Rossi pointed out that she called out to Hotch, twice. She didn't even know herself why she had. Or perhaps she did, but she was too stubborn to admit it. Slowly, she dissected her mind and thoughts, separating it piece by piece to be observed, studied from the darkness within.

A young man entered the room and called out to the two agents. Elle Tallis had arrived, another name on their list that now was given a face. Abby was easily pulled back from her deep thoughts and she and Rossi headed towards the front desk.

---

11.45

Elle Tallis was unlucky, as you could say. Abby's eyes went over her file and she imprinted what she read into her mind. When Elle was five, her mother died in a car crash. Elle's father got remarried two months later to a mother of two sons. When she was thirteen, she was arrested for vandalism and again three weeks later. It was then that it came to light that her oldest brother had been molesting her. Elle switched schools, gained over forty pounds and became depressed. At the age of sixteen, she weighted one-hundred-and-eighty pounds, just came out of the hospital after a suicide attempted and had developed a taste for burning herself.

The person sitting before Abby and Rossi, seemed shy and withdrawn. She was nervous, her hands shaky and her eyes everywhere around the room. Abby reckoned Elle Tallis started using again and she was in dire need of a fix.

"Elle Tallis, this is Agent Scott, I'm agent Rossi. Thank for you for coming in."  
Tallis didn't reply, she glanced from Abby to Rossi several times before her eyes settled down on Rossi, whom was first to sit down. Abby positioned herself leaning against the desk Elle and Rossi were sitting at, her right arm still in the burning white sling.  
"They said you were looking for a killer."  
"That's right."  
"So, is there like a reward if I tell you who it is?"  
"Do you know who it is?"  
Elle shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know who you're looking for."  
"The man we're looking for killer three of your former classmates. He was probably in the same class as you. He was picked on, a lot. Short built, shy."  
The big woman snorted.  
"That has to be Luke. Luke and I were the amusement of our oh so perfect classmates."  
"Luke who?"  
"Luke Padov."  
"Do you know where he is now?"  
"Listen, about that reward?"  
Rossi raised his elbows on his knees as he folded his hands and looked at Elle firm and steady. Elle, on her turn, leant back, trying to create as much distance between her and the threatening FBI agent.  
"I don't think there is a reward, Elle. The only reward given here, is that you can help us put a murderer behind bars."  
Her eyes flashed around the room again, she licked her lips and tried to dry her sweaty hands on her dirty jeans.  
"Listen, Elle."  
Abby now stepped forward and squatted down next to Elle.  
"Luke, assuming that he is the man we are looking for, he's done some very bad things. But, we believe that he does those things to the people that hurt him. Can you tell me what your old classmates did to him?"  
Elle laughed, it was a hollow and lifeless sound, just like her eyes.  
"Many people did horrible things to us. You're gonna have to be a little more specific here."  
"Okay, let's start with Mark McCunning."  
"Mark made it a habit to put out his cigarettes on him. Much to everyone else's amusement."  
"And Glenn Harris? I think you know him, what did he do to Luke?"  
Elle had responded to the name. She looked down at her fiddling hands and the speed of her breathing went up. Abby picked up on this change of behavior and decided to throw it into the conversation.  
"He's your dealer, isn't he?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"What did he do?"  
"What everybody else did. He called him names, kicked him, hit him."  
"He ever knocked out a couple of Luke's teeth."  
"Yeah."  
"And did Duncan Donnelly ever try to drown Luke?"  
Elle remained silent now, staring at Abby with fear in her eyes.  
"I'm not going to tell you where he is."  
"I know, Elle. I know that you won't. Just so you know, I don't think you ever did anything to stop it. I think you let it happen, glad that you, for once, weren't the one being teased, picked on, hurt. Question is, how long are you going to live with that? How long are you going to live with the fact that you are partly responsible for those murders just like you are partly responsible for the hurt Luke experienced in college?"

Abby put down the pictures of the three victims before she lifted herself up and walked away. Rossi was close behind and the headed back towards the room.  
"A little too aggressive. You might have shut her down. But good call. Nice try."  
"Too aggressive?"  
"You got hard too fast, you closed with distance too fast. You should have left out the last part, about being partly responsible for picking on him. Work on that."  
"Thanks."  
"I'll call Garcia to see if she got an address for that name."

Morgan appeared around the corner of the doorpost and his eyes searched for familiar faces.  
"Where's the rest? We've got an address."  
Abby and Rossi shared a moment of eye contact and jumped into action.

Hotch, JJ and Reid were quickly pulled away from their interviews and known information was shared. They all got one name: Luke Padov. Ivan McKlaren was eager to give him up, adding that Luke was a real freak. He didn't doubt for a second that Padov was innocent and quickly gave his address. He still lived in Raleigh, Prentiss was called and directed towards seventeen Oakwood Avenue.

---

"But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself is his own dungeon."

John Milton


	4. Chapter 4: The pain of sin

_"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"_

William Shakespeare

11.53

Abby watched the team head through the glass do0rs, their backs turned towards her, leaving her behind. It felt strange, to be left behind. As she cocked her head to the side, she tried to put a finger on the anomalous turmoil of feelings that raged inside her body. Her index-finger and thumb slowly tapped against each other, following an unknown rhythm. The yearning for a cigarette quickly built itself inside her mind and she turned around.

The room was almost cold. Lust, drive and eagerness no longer filled this room and the lack of these feelings made the room almost empty. Contradiction in one room. Three people, once alive, now dead. Their eyes, at the moment, filled with the energy of the living, on the next picture, gruesomely taken from their soul. Their life. Now, they were just empty shells. They represented no one. God and the Devil never made a distinction between the frames, it was all about the souls.

And those souls, wicked or saint, could soon rest in peace. And then, there would be nothing left, no reason for Abby and the team to stick around. It was one of the things she loved about the job. She came for a problem. She solved the problem. Problem gone, Abby gone. It was simple and she loved it. She was never the one for emotional bonding.

There was only one place that she loved dearly; Atlanta. Atlanta was her home. It's where she grew up, become a woman, fought her first fights, her blood spilled on the stone pavements, her name still in people's memories. That place was where she had built a name for herself. Became who she was. The heart-clenching feeling of despair no longer suffocated her, she grew numb the more she thought about the place she no longer was. The needles stung less and less, the knives cut less and less deep, the heartache grew more and more silent, the kicks faded more and more, the screams became less and less. Adjusting. It amazed Abby, just like it fascinated her as well as she adored it.

Sighing, Abby moved around the room and her eyes lingered over the photo's, the leads, the clues, the words scribbled down, the train wreck of thoughts. The maze of an investigation. Abby had noticed a certain similarity between herself and the good doctor Reid. She worked almost exactly like him. For her, that meant a lot. His mind was brilliant. Abby had a piece of that brilliance, but somehow, despite her IQ, she was by far not nearly as smart as him. She knew that her excellence, her pre-eminence laid somewhere else. She understood darkness. She knew the twist of the shades and the abstruse truth of shadows. That was her expertise. A lot of that knowledge had been stored in the night train. That was her territory.

She picked up a couple of boxes from the corner of the room and slowly started putting files into them, organising it carefully. There was something about a closed case, or closing a case for that matter. Abby knew the cased wasn't actually closed, as they hadn't caught the guy yet, but it was as good as closed. Abby hit a point of being lost and out of control, as she always did. Once everything was cleaned up and stored, they would head back towards Quantico. From there on, she could focus on something else, something new again. Something that gave her meaning and a purpose.

If she couldn't hunt the bad guys, she was left without a direction.

12.14

The crave for a cigarette took her by her hand and guided her outside. There, she lit a smoke, carefully hissing when she moved her left arm to protect the small flame. Inhaling deeply, she was once again reminded why she smoked. It dampened the pain. It made it fade till the point of no recognition. The smoke escaped her lips and she parted them.

"Your friends, they're going to arrest him, aren't they?"

The voice crashed down on top of Abby's turmoil of thoughts and feelings and startled, she turned her face to meet the person speaking. Elle Tallis stood next to her, the dirty red sweater hugging the width of her waist. Once back at her owned composure, Abby nodded and took a pull from her cigarette.

In a few seconds, she noticed Elle glaring at the cigarette, her nostrils expanding to catch a small glimpse of the tobacco scent. Abby smiled meekly and extended the pack of smokes. The corners of Elle's mouth lifted slightly, but there was no smile in her eyes. She grabbed a cigarette and raised it as if thanking her.

"He's not a bad person, y'know?"

"It's not what you are, it's what you don't become that hurts."

For a split second, Elle looked up at Abby confused, but soon again, her expression returned to its usual dully depressed mien.

"Why did you become a cop?"

"I watched someone close to me get hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Are you good at what you do?"

This question caused Abby to turn her face and once again, meet Elle's eyes.

"You're profilers. I watched a documentary a long time ago, about profilers. They say you can tell from a person's eyes. Tell everything, find every secret. Just like mind readers."

"We look at a person's behavior. It's not us that can tell. It's your body that's telling it. That's what we see."

"Quentin."

"Sorry?"

"Quentin Morrow. He was the biggest bully. Luke will go after him. He's the final one. There were four."

Before throwing her half-smoked cigarette on the ground, before storming into the police station to grab her coat and a set of keys, before dialing Hotch's number to inform him of the latest discovery, even before calling Garcia for an address, Abby turned towards Elle. Her face was twitched in slight fear and revelation. She placed one hand on her podgy shoulder.

"Thank you Elle."

12.20

"Garcia, it's Frankie. Listen, I just talked to Elle Tallis, she says there were four bullies. Quentin Morrow is the last one. Can you get me an address?"

"Quentin Morrow, looking, looking."

She forgot her coat. Abby grabbed her keys and tossed away the sling. Impatiently, she waited for Garcia to come up with anything, and she glanced through the windows to find Elle Tallis' eyes, worried and anxious.

"Garcia."

"Working on it, working on it. Got him! Ariquentin James Morrow, twenty-six, he lives on Postell Street fourteen."

"Thanks Garcia."

"Wait!"

Abby's finger hovered over the 'end' button and she waited for Garcia to speak. Adrenaline was by now freely running through her body. Her shoulder hurt less, adrenaline took it all away. The drum of her heartbeat she could hear in her ears, the tingling sensation ran through her fingers, her mind at full speed and ready for action.

"He works at the St. Mary's College, Hillsborough Street. He should be there right now."

"Thanks Garcia. Call Hotch, tell 'm I'm on my way!"

"Wait, Abby! You're not supposed to drive with your arm! Abby? Abby? Damn you, woman."

On her way out, she yelled at two officers to follow her tail. Abby put on her sunglasses once stepping outside, the sun burning her eyes, blinding her. She ran towards the black SUV and jumped in the first chance she got. Every second counted, they needed to hurry or Luke Padov would finish what he started; what he craved to do for so long.

Sirens blasted in Abby's ear, overcoming the thumping sound of her heart beating in her ears and chest. Single-handed, she drove through the traffic, hoping that she wouldn't hit someone or something. The bruises on her side, back and shoulder started to wake up and nagged at her consciousness.

The sudden sound of her cell phone pulsed through her body and she tried to relax. She pushed her knee against the steering wheel while she snatched her cell phone, put it to her ear and grabbed the wheel again.

"Scott."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm on my way to-"

"You're not supposed to be driving."

"Hotch, I'm two blocks away. You better be here or I'll go in alone."

"One minute. You wait."

"Yes sir."

Abby accelerated, pushing down the pedal as the college doomed up when she turned the corner. Hastily, she turned the car around the corner and a few students stepped away once hearing the sirens and seeing the car. As she entered the premises, she wondered how and why Padov would want to take Morrow here. Students were scattered around the area, walking in and out, someone would see what he was doing or going to do. Then again, perhaps that was what he wanted.

The tires screeched to a forced halt and Abby jumped out of the car. Many young people looked at her, the police car that pulled to a halt behind her, her badge, the gun, the sirens, the lights. It must have been quite a scene. The two police officers got out of their car and approached Abby. She noted that both of them immediately covered the butt of their holstered gun with their hands, scanning the area, looking at the students that looked at them and she knew that she was dealing with experienced cops.

"You two. Go inside and ask where Quentin Morrow is. It is utterly important that we find him. Do not spread the word, keep it calm and controlled. We don't want a massive break out."

With two small, curt nods, the policemen hurried inside, ignoring the looks of the seemingly scared and confused students.

Restlessly, Abby waited outside, looking up at the building as if Morrow, or Padov, suddenly might hang out the window, calling out to her. Behind her, she heard sirens and two black SUV's pulled up the driveway, three squad cars directly behind them. Abby walked towards them, her strides long, firm and fast.

"I just send two uniforms inside to check on Quentin Morrow. I told them not to make a scene."

Hotchner only nodded, visibly miffed and somewhat angry. He gave her the long, 'ye be warned' glare before turning towards Chief Miller.

"Chief, two of your uniforms just went inside-."

"I just got off the radio with them, they have a location for Morrow."

"Where?"

"Room three-oh-nine."

"Let's go."

Abby remained standing still and she watched the small group head towards the entrance of the large building. She knew better than to push Hotch's buttons now. She did, however, put the earpiece in her ear to make sure she knew what was going on. If things were going south, she wasn't going to be standing here outside, despite what Hotch might say or do. Suddenly, as if he read her mind, Hotch turned around and his eyes sought Abby's. She stepped forward.

"Get Garcia on the phone. I wanna know where Padov is right now."

"Copy."

While dialling Garcia's number, Abby turned around and noticed how many students had their attention on them. The red and blue lights danced over their faces, trees and the building's walls. Part of the entrance was blocked, two officers stood inside next to the door.

"Yes love?"

"Garcia, we need to know where Padov is."

"Give me a second."

"Work your magic."

A small group of students found the courage to swiftly approach Abby. She quickly pressed the phone against her ear with her shoulder and motioned for them to stay back.

"Okay. His phone is switched off, he was fired just yesterday so he's not at work, no credit card use today."

"Can you turn his phone back on?" Abby asked.

"Do you know who you're talking to? Gimme a sec"

"Right."

There was a short paused before Garcia's gasp filled the speaker of the cell phone. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"Frankie, he's at Sint Mary's College, he's at a school."

"We're already here. Where is he?"

"Main building, eastern wing, second floor. Walking past room two-oh-nine."

"Hotch, you got that? Eastern wing, second floor, walking past two-oh-nine." Abby said into the small radio attached to her vest.

"Copy Scott."

"Garcia, good work." She complimented the tech.

"Are they going to be okay?" Garcia asked worried as she always was.

"Yeah, we're on him."

"Okay. Garcia out."

Abby hung up and sighed deeply. She let her eyes scan the area, looking around. By now, a crowd had formed before the front side of the building and Abby hoped that more cars were on their way for crowd control. She was not in the mood to deal with scared teenagers. Especially not in packs.

Out of nowhere, a chill wind blew past her cheek and the hand brushed against hers. The reminiscent touch was iniquitous, frigid. The breath in her ears harsh and despondent. The rats ran over her back again, sending shivers to run up and down her spine, dancing on her bone, nagging at her skin. A peril threat forced itself against her shields, the hit echoing through her skin, breaking it. The scattered sound of muffled conversations faded, faces became one blur of motion. She was violently aware of the breath that escaped her mouth, the cool air that entered again, his inaudible voice in her head, the words mixed together till one long line of words she didn't understand.

Then, gunshots, a window was broken and several students screamed and started to flee. As if she had been spinning and suddenly put back on the ground, Abby had to regain her balance, re-read her surroundings. A police car arrived and the two officers immediately jumped into action once they saw the federal agent and heard the gunshots. The three of them hurried towards the point of origin.

Abby was the first to turn the corner and immediately turned around again. The two cops saw the body and Abby pushed them back.

"Keep those kids away. Now."

Slowly, her hand positioned on her gun, keen on any signal of life, she approached the humble pile of bones, flesh and clothes. Between the green grass, she discerned the small pool of blood that started to form. She used the tip of her shoe to turn the subject on its back, the dead weight quickly turning around. But once she locked her eyes with his, those vehement, furious and raging, she understood he wasn't dead yet. She blinked and as she did, she ran around the corner, her eyes fixed on the spot she saw his black gloved hand seconds before, she turned, her legs adjusting and he loomed up before her, his eyes viciously penetrating and bright, pushing her back hard and fast. It was him.

"Luke Padov? FBI. You're under arrest."

She bent forward and pulled the ski mask over his face, exposing the face of an actually fairly attractive man, a few minor scars decorating the right side, blood accompanied by a few cuts on the other side. Abby looked up while kneeling down and stared right into Hotch's piercing eyes.

"You want me to cuff him?"

The smile across her lips must have set something off inside Hotch's mind. He shook his head with a small smile on his face and he disappeared again.

"I don't think it's really necessary. I mean, don't think you're going anywhere. Not with a leg that looks like that anyway. Recognise me?"

Luke Padov looked at Abby's face, his bright green eyes spitting fire at her. Recognition flashed before his eyes once he got a good look at Abby's face.

"You stupid British bitch."

"Ah! Now, that's not nice, is it?"

"I think blue suits you."

"Ya, about that."

Abby paused and leant forward as she whispered in his ear.

"Listen, mate, do something stupid, and I'm afraid that you won't see colours ever again. So, I suggest you keep that filthy mouth of yours shut, before you know what the meaning is of the proverb 'hell has no fury like a woman scorned'. Ambulance is on its way."

With that, she raised herself back on her feet, sent Padov one last glance and walked away, two paramedics running past her as they approached their patient. Officers were already busy with containing the scene and keeping the crowd away. Abby spotted Morgan and headed in his direction.

"Hey." He smiled gently.

"Hey. What happened?"

"Hotch tried to talk him down, we were too late. Morrow is fine though. A little shaken up."

"So he turns and aims for you?"

Morgan's eyes flash up at her and he smiles.

"You're the alpha male, you stand out in a crowd. Hotch doesn't. Or, you know, perhaps he's gay and thought you were the hottest guy in the room?" Abby explained calmly and simply.

The comment caused both Abby and Morgan to laugh shortly and they continued to look around, trying to find a place in the sudden chaos.

19.37

"Hotch, coffee?"

Hotchner looked up from the pile of papers that lay before him, his eyes glassy and his hair somewhat ruffled. Abby smiled at the scenery before her and entered her boss' office. She held two cups of coffee up in the air when he looked up and placed one on the desk before her.

"Thank you."

Abby nodded, her left arm back in the sling, and she sat down. Slowly sipping on her coffee, Abby looked outside and ignored Hotch's looks. After a few minutes or so, she turned in the chair and looked at him. He, on his turn, laid down his pen as he finished a part of the work he still had to do. The papers were put into a brown case file and placed on a growing stack of files.

It had become their routine to sit down and talk Abby's actions through. It had been part of Strauss' orders after the fiasco that almost got both her and Morgan blown up by a grenade. The other part was mandatory shrink hours, but Abby honestly admitted she never went. So far, Strauss hadn't pushed after Abby told her to back off. Well, it came down to that, she didn't use to those words in particular.

After three weeks, Hotch and Strauss both agreed that the appointments with the psychiatrist were a bit over the top but that Abby would see Hotch after every case. They saw it as controlled confinement. She saw it as probation. Evaluation.

"You shouldn't have gone to St. Mary's while injured." He said coolly, without giving her the impression to attack her and her actions.

"It was the best idea I had at the moment." She honestly admitted.

Hotch shrugged. "It's okay. You didn't go in yourself, you sent two officers to look for Morrow, even after we all went in, you stayed behind, didn't even ask."

Abby nodded and took another sip of the hot liquid.

"Rossi told me about the interview with Elle Tallis."

"Ya."

"I'd say work on that, but in the end, she came back to you." Her supervisor said to her.

"She was just scared."

"If that what it takes to get them to talk, then so be it."

Her dark-green eyes intertwined with his and she smiled again.

"Go home Scott."

"Yes sir."

Slightly groaning, Abby got up and took a few steps towards the door.

"How's the shoulder?" Hotch asked, a small, nearly invisible smile on his lips.

"It's a little sore, I'm a little stiff, but I'll live."

"You know I've assigned you to desk duty until the doctor cleared you, so you won't fly out with us tomorrow?"

"Ya." Abby halted in the middle of her action to open the door. She turned around, sucking lightly on the inside of her right cheek. "Hotch. Go home."

So far, Abby had only managed to make Hotch smile half-ly. One side of his mouth would go up, whilst the rest of the team, and mostly Reid, managed to lift both sides. It had become a sport for Abby to get this man to smile, genuinely smile. So far, and seeing his half-smile now, she thought she was doing a pretty good job.

She descended the stairs and spotted Reid waiting for her. She sighed as she knew she had lost the argument that she could drive home herself. The young genius smiled and the older woman playfully smacked the back of his head before heading towards the exit.

21.20

"You sure you're okay?"

Morgan had appeared in her doorstep fifteen minutes ago, his expression worried and slightly surprised as always when he looked at the young agent. He claimed to only step by to see how she was, but accepted her invitation to come in when she asked him to. His eyes had gone through her apartment quickly, scanning, observing, profiling, as they always did. Derek had responded to her snicker and couldn't help by smile either when she pointed out to him what he was doing. His remark? 'Nice place you got.'

They were sitting at the kitchen island, two empty mugs before them, the steam that vaporized in the air had been traded for the ice-y cold of a beer. Abby had moved the ice pack she had placed on her shoulder and only winched for a split second.

"Morgan, I swear to God, ask that question one more time and I'll shoot you. I'm fine, okay? I'm not made out of glass."

Morgan raised his hands shortly but smiled when he did it. He took another pull from his beer bottle and put it down on the counter. Abby glared at him and met his eyes.

"What?"

"You want a second opinion?" He asked playfully.

"Oh, you're a doctor now? Besides, you'll probably tell me I'll have to live in a bubble for the rest of my life." She replied, referring to a movie of John Travolta.

"Have a little faith here Abs."

"Fine."

She wasn't sure when the nickname 'Abs' arose, but she had to admit that she kind of liked it. Her friends back in Atlanta always called her Frankie. She was used to that nickname and everybody else was used to using it. Still, it was nice to have someone that thought of a new nickname, after all, she wasn't with her friends in Atlanta anymore. This was different now.

Abby turned on her bar stool and Morgan carefully slid the vest she was wearing back, exposing white tank top and her sore shoulder. His touch was cool and gentle as his fingers brushed carefully against the black, blue and yellow dotted skin, whistling shortly.

"Told you. It's a piece of art." Abby couldn't help it. When his fingers traced the pale skin, she shivered slightly. The compelling attraction she felt for the man made her want to go crazy.

"How does it feel?"

"Promise me you won't turn me into John Travolta?"

Morgan snorted and brushed some hair aside, allowing him a better look at the damaged shoulder. Abby needed to lighten the mood, change the atmosphere that hung between them. She could feel her heart beating rapidly inside her chest and she had to focus to keep her breathing calm and regular. Remain composed.

"Promise."

"It burns. I can feel it swell up like a balloon. It's as if someone tied my torso to a wooden plank." She said.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Abby partially turned her head as she spoke, her brows knitted together in confusion.

"I should have had your back."

"He came from up front. You had my back."

The handsome man snorted again. And then it happened. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt his breath on the bruised skin, the touch of his fingers on her upper arm burnt into her skin, she held her breath for a couple of seconds. She was on fire.

Morgan had leant forward and placed a gentle, kind kiss on her shoulder. Slowly, he rubbed her right upper arm and she heard the stool squeak under re-positioned weight. The air sparkled with mutual attraction, the heat was almost unbearable and Abby felt herself slip into that madness she tried to keep herself far away from. She knew it was stupid, she knew they shouldn't, but God forbid, she couldn't help it. This fire between them was impossible to deny.

And there is was. Undeniable. Uncontainable. Unstoppable. They both had seen it coming. It was like knowing you were heading for the cliff, and still you accelerated, wanted to go faster, deeper.

They collided.

"I should go."

"That's probably a good idea."

"You take care of yourself."

"Always."

Abby took a large, long pull from her beer as she watched the Chicago born agent put on his coat and disappear behind the fake oak door. She sighed, looking down the hand he had squeezed before leaving. She had, like him, read the signs, she had heard them and felt them, smelled them and sensed them. But despite the warnings, she didn't stop. They didn't stop.

So, here she was. The ice pack on the counter lay forgotten, melting and underneath it a small puddle of water begun to form. The moisture on Abby's beer bottle held strange figures, small drops slowly sliding down. Bird lay in the corner, sleeping. She glanced at the clock, 22.00.

Abby lit a cigarette, played with the smoke when inhaling and exhaling. Her phone rang. She didn't pick up. She knew who it was. And she wasn't in the mood.

_"Remorse is the pain of sin."_

Theodore Parker


End file.
